Deborah Borealis stood beside King Royce, assuming the role of moderator. "Distinguished colleagues, I trust you all recognize the name Gale Lassō. She served as Chief Court Mage of Crividsylvan and stood among our most brilliant and esteemed companions. Alas, she shall never again grace our assemblies; the Godmans have claimed her life."

  In the shadowed corner, Sarah, the witch from Wyrmδenborn, suddenly clasped her hand over her mouth—the instinctive reaction of one desperately suppressing nausea. Through formidable self-discipline, she quelled the upheaval in her stomach and returned her hand to her lap. The entire episode transpired with such hushed discretion that it passed unnoticed.

  "I knew her well," remarked Chloe Dinara, her hair currently shimmering with a pale green hue. "We collaborated during the spectral disturbances in Shalaid Forest. She predated many of us—indeed, most human mages—and helped establish the very institution of human Court Sorcery."

  "I heard she met her end at Sylvwood Hall," Dorothy Andella Jones, the Megonian mage, commented while idly twirling a golden lock near her ear. Her crimson lips barely parted as she spoke. "Struck down by a thunderbolt."

  "It wasn't she who suffered the lightning strike, Dorothy," corrected Giselle Hardy, the Arisindra sorceress. Her luxuriant black hair framed her statuesque figure, and even seated, her diaphanous gown did little to conceal her elegant legs. She seemed perpetually unaware of how her alluring form drew attention. "The lightning struck Sylvwood Hall itself. The entire tower crumbled to ruins."

  Joanna Kenster, the Popodovis representative, supported her head with one hand, her hair in disarray. "But lightning did not claim her life -- arrows did. She had conjured a portal allowing the queen and prince to escape, but couldn't secure her own departure in time. The advancing archers overwhelmed her with volleys."

  Dorothy cast her a contemptuous glance. "You seem remarkably well-informed."

  "I merely conducted some investigation," Joanna replied with affected casualness. "I discovered portal residue at the site and performed a magical regression and inverse tracing."

  "Apparently, Popodovis mages enjoy abundant leisure," Dorothy sneered. "Your sovereign exercises little restraint, permitting his sorcerers to flit about like untethered sparrows."

  "Oh, hardly comparable to your circumstances," Joanna retorted with venom. "The Queen of Megonian maintains such draconian control over her male court mages that their daily existence offers but two states: servicing her desires or preparing to do so."

  Monica Dunston appeared visibly discomfited by the witches' acerbic exchange. Augler Prescott offered her a reassuring smile, signaling that she should disregard their hostilities.

  "Sisters, we convene not to quarrel," Delores Zimmerman, the Ellytra witch, admonished with gravity. "The Godmans have already seized Crividsylvan and extinguished Gale Lassō. Their sights likely next turn toward—Cynthia. Should we fracture into internal disputes and mutual suspicion, the entire Northern Realm will swiftly fall under Godman dominion."

  "I'm heartened that rationality persists among us," Deborah Borealis sighed. "My purpose in invoking Gale Lassō extended beyond offering a brief tribute to her memory; I sought to direct your attention to another figure of significance: the architect of that devastating lightning."

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  King Royce inclined slightly, absorbing every word with evident fascination.

  "The southern sorcerer," Gregory Monroe Longinus, the Dud warlock, stated, leaning forward with hands interlaced upon his knees. "The Southerners deployed several mages during their Crivian campaign, though I cannot identify which particular practitioner."

  "I suspect the Wind of Catoria," Giselle Hardy observed, elegantly crossing her legs. "Within Arisindran arcane circles, persistent rumors circulate regarding southern sorcery—claims that they perpetuate dark magic and follow the legacy of humanity's first sorcerer, Reit Fanto Yerod Spiehasawin. They carried their devotion to the Triad and gathered followers southward to establish their realm. They bear the epithet 'The Betrayers.' However, I remain somewhat skeptical of this characterization." She turned toward the Popodovis sorceress. "What perspective do you offer, Joanna?"

  "I reject the classification as dark magic," Joanna replied, adjusting her turquoise ring. "I examined Sylvwood Hall's decimated tower extensively. No evidence suggested the deployment of dark magical energies. But that lightning..." She loosened her ring before resecuring it. "Its magnitude was extraordinary—unnaturally so. Consider this," she removed the ring, holding it before her scrutinizing gaze. "Using standard Elderwood Rings as magical repositories, conjuring a lightning sphere of such devastating power would require at least seven such artifacts simultaneously. This assumes the practitioner could swiftly harness the local Primal Source—yet ironically, the Sylvwood Hall region possesses no Source of such potency."

  "Seven tiers of magic," Monica interjected unexpectedly.

  "Explain your meaning," Joanna inquired.

  "It's academic terminology," Delores elucidated. "Within magical institutions, we typically designate the arcane energy capacity of a single Elderwood Ring as 'one tier of magic.' Essentially, a 'tier of magic' constitutes our fundamental unit of mystical energy measurement."

  "Ah..." Giselle's brow furrowed momentarily. "Indeed, quite lucid."

  "To summarize," Dorothy Andella Jones clarified, "unleashing this lightning enchantment demanded seven tiers of magical energy, and this sorcerer apparently required no immediate Source extraction. Is that your assertion, Joanna?"

  The Popodovis sorceress nodded confirmation. "They must possess an artifact of unprecedented potency. No—perhaps multiple such items."

  "Artifacts capable of housing such immense power remain exceedingly rare... Meteorite fragments, diamonds, crystallized dragon essence, or perhaps a staff?"

  "Staffs typically remain the province of male practitioners, Chloe," Augler Prescott remarked with a knowing smile. "The 'Wind of Catoria' is a witch, and quite possibly the most formidable sorcerer throughout Godma. I doubt she requires a staff to compensate for magical deficiencies traditionally attributed to men."

  "She warrants our utmost circumspection," Deborah continued. "Among all the Godman witches, she represents the most perilous threat—more dangerous than any other."

  "For what reason?" Dorothy tilted her head inquisitively, fingers continuing to twirl her golden tresses. "Merely because she can summon such lightning? Because she extinguished Gale Lassō's life?"

  From her corner, Sarah, the Wyrmδenborn witch, finally succumbed to her physical distress, expelling partially digested sustenance through her fingers. With remarkable reflexes, she seized a nearby vase of daffodils to contain the pale yellow effluence. "Oh my, are you unwell?" Monica Dunston searched ineffectually for her customary handkerchief, only then realizing she wasn't wearing her everyday attire. Servants promptly converged, removing the unfortunate floral arrangement and providing a water basin for cleansing. "Evidently, tonight's culinary delights prove incompatible with Wyrmδenborn constitution," Dorothy remarked, demonstrating her caustic wit at a thoroughly inappropriate moment. "Because she commands the very storms themselves," intoned Sarah's voice, materializing from the stillness after the servants—visibly unsettled by her facial tattoos—had departed. Her raspy, profound tone reverberated eerily throughout the chamber, creating lingering echoes.